The Edge of Night (6 page)

He almost sputtered a mouthful of coffee all over the countertop. “Oh, no,” he said in a warning tone. “Don’t be thinking you can invite boys over or stay out all night. The rules here will be the same as Mom and Dad’s.”

She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Okay.”

Noah worked the evening shift, of course, so he wouldn’t be around to enforce any of those rules. “Mom’s going to kill me,” he groaned, taking his empty plate to the sink. “Do you really want Mom to kill me?”

She rose from the bar stool, looking very pleased with herself. “Mom will be mad at me,” she countered. “Everything you do is golden.”

“That’s not true.”

She changed the subject. “Are you working today?”

It was Sunday, his day off. But murder investigations didn’t keep regular hours. “Yeah. I have some stuff to finish up in the office.”

“Will you check that bike before you go?”

He sighed, downing the rest of his coffee. “Fine, but the business district on Broadway isn’t safe. Homeless people panhandle in the parking lot. The liquor store on Fifth Avenue gets robbed every other weekend. Junkies shoot up in the restroom at the burger joint. And the massage parlor … isn’t known for massages.”

She frowned. “Maybe I’ll head toward the coast instead.”

The beach areas were almost as shady as the inner city. “Don’t go too far,” he said, already disliking his new role as guardian. “I don’t want you riding that bike at night, either. The neighborhood is too dangerous, and the bike doesn’t have reflectors. Be aware of that when you list your available hours.”

Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. “Is there anyplace you consider appropriate, big brother?”

“Not really,” he said. Not in Chula Vista.

After Noah aired up the tires on his beach cruiser and gave Meghan the combination for the padlock, he went down to CVPD headquarters. Santiago had asked him to view the footage from Club Suave, and he intended to follow through. If Castillo confessed to the murder, the legwork would be unnecessary, but he wasn’t counting on any easy solutions.

At the station, Deputy Williams was hunched over his computer, hand on the mouse, dark face just inches from the grainy images on the screen. Williams was a rookie on homicide. He was young, and smart, and very large.

“What up,” he mumbled, not blinking.

Noah grabbed the chair next to Williams, hoping he had the scoop on the case. “Did they interview Castillo?”

“Yeah. Motherfucker has an alibi. Check it out.”

Noah watched the screen, instantly intrigued. The footage showed Castillo’s gold Camaro pulling up to a booth at one of the border checkpoints. “Is that San Ysidro?”

Williams nodded. “He crossed into Tijuana at one minute after midnight. Came back at six fifteen. Got clear footage both ways.”

“Did the ME make an official ruling on the time of death?”

“Nah. But unofficially it’s between two and four
A.M.”

According to the waitresses at Suave, Lola Sanchez didn’t leave the club until 2:15, so that narrowed the window even further. She’d probably been killed between 3:00 and 4:00
A.M
. There was no way Castillo could have done it from across the border.

“Shit,” Noah said, raking a hand through his hair. He’d wanted Castillo to be guilty, and not just so he could say he’d collared a killer. Every officer in the department wanted the man who raped and murdered Lola Sanchez off the streets.

“DEA is investigating him for trafficking. Sounds like they’re getting a warrant to search the house and impound the vehicle.”

Noah wouldn’t be surprised if the dope he’d found on Castillo had been smuggled across the border. “What did he say he was doing in TJ?”

“Cruising the red-light district. Alone.”

Noah studied the freeze frames of the Camaro at the checkpoint. Castillo had lied. He was traveling with another man. The passenger kept his face averted, as if he knew exactly where the camera was. “Do you have another angle?”

“Nope.”

Williams did a few techie tricks, magnifying the best shot. The passenger’s head was turned away, but he looked young and fit. He had short dark hair, and he was wearing a plain white T-shirt, like Castillo. A bandanna encircled his left wrist.

“CVL,” Noah guessed.

“Maybe Santiago can use it.” Williams hefted his muscular bulk out of the chair. “You want to come to the viewing room?”

Noah leapt at the chance. “Sure.”

The viewing room was right across the hall. There were several detectives seated at the control panel, watching the interrogation in progress. Santiago appeared cool and calm, as unruffled as ever in gray trousers and a blue shirt. In contrast, Castillo looked like a crashing addict: gaunt, sweaty, and exhausted.

Williams passed one of the detectives a printout of Castillo with his friend at the border. He communicated the news to Santiago via earpiece.

“We’ve got footage of you crossing into the United States with a passenger,” Santiago said. “I’m sure the DEA will take special interest in your trip. Cooperating with the investigation could save you from doing some serious time.”

Castillo was suffering from withdrawal, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he would go to jail no matter what. “I told you everything I did Friday night. I went to TJ. None of the girls looked good. I came back. That’s it.”

“Who were you with?”

“Nobody.”

“Is ‘Nobody’ affiliated with CVL?”

Castillo’s eyes flashed with defiance. “You think I’m going to talk about CVL?”

“They won’t have your back in prison, man.”

That was definitely true. The California penal system was ruled by larger, more organized gangs. The Mexican Mafia made the Locos look like Boy Scouts.

“I want a lawyer,” Castillo said, shutting off completely. “I didn’t do anything to Lola. I’ll fucking kill whoever did.”

Santiago rose, gesturing for the guard to take Castillo back into custody. He would spend the night in lockdown and speak to a court-appointed attorney tomorrow. The show was over, so Noah left the viewing room with some of the other detectives.

“I heard you took him down hard last night,” Williams said.

Noah grunted, flexing his right hand. A rash of scabs had formed across his knuckles. “Almost got shot in the head, too. Pretty stupid.”

“Hey, at least you caught him. Once they get away from me on foot, it’s over. I wish I could run like the wind.”

“I wish I could hit like a Mack truck,” Noah said reasonably. “So I guess we’re even.”

Williams smiled. “How were the girls at Suave?”

“Nice,” he admitted.

“You need any help with that footage?”

Noah planned to make a log of any customer interactions with the victim. He would also try to match them up to the descriptions April Ortiz had given him. It would be a tedious job, but he’d rather do it alone. Just in case he took an unprofessional interest in the length and fit of April Ortiz’s skirt.

“I think I can manage,” he said, smiling back.

“Why don’t I ever get to interview fine ladies?” Williams complained to his partner. “Haven’t I been good?”

Meghan didn’t have any luck along the coast.

Although there were specialty boutiques and ice cream shops, sports-equipment outlets and sandwich delis, none was hiring. At the end of summer, most small businesses were looking to drop a few employees, not gain new ones.

She thought about applying for a work program on campus, but classes didn’t start for another three weeks, and she couldn’t wait that long. Noah wouldn’t understand how serious she was about staying if she didn’t get a job.

With renewed determination, she pedaled east, toward the business district on Broadway that her brother had warned her about.

It was a busy area, and there were some raggedly clothed people hanging out around the bus stops, but Meghan didn’t feel threatened. She felt … enlivened. Unlike her hometown, which was small and quaint and homogenous, Chula Vista was a sprawling urban center, a melting pot of different cultures. It was noisy, and foreign, and a little dirty.

She liked it.

Noah was right about the hiring prospects, however. Meghan didn’t speak Spanish, so she was useless in this part of town. The Korean fish market wouldn’t want her. And the burger joint looked
really
gross.

Despite her teasing exchange with Noah earlier, she had no intentions of dancing nude or performing “massages.”

The sun was burning her bare shoulders, pelting down on the top of her head, and sweat trickled between her breasts. She started looking for a place to buy a cold drink rather than a possible work location.

There was a grocery store on the corner. She’d shopped there before. It was medium size, not one of the huge outlets. The front windows were clear, and the interior looked clean. She didn’t see any drug-dealer types near the entrance.

Feeling hopeful, she continued around the building, searching for a bike rack. She spotted one near the back door. As she got off her bike, kneeling to lock it up, a young man sped around the corner, startling her.

He seemed surprised to see her, too. “Sorry,” he said, hopping off his own bike. It was one of those freestyle types that could do tricks and maneuver through traffic. The rider was about her age, maybe a year or two older. With his short black hair and nondescript clothing, he resembled many of the other boys she’d seen today.

She watched his hands, so close to hers, as he threaded a plastic-covered chain through the spokes of his front wheel. For some reason, her heart was racing.

“That’s a good lock,” he commented.

With trembling fingers, she secured it and looked up to meet his eyes. There was no hint of menace in his face, just mild curiosity. “My brother’s a cop,” she said, rising. “He says this type of lock is the best.”

He stood also, nodding his agreement. “He’s right.”

Meghan’s tank top was sticking to her damp skin, and she felt flushed from the heat. Her fellow bike rider also looked sweaty. He had a blue polo shirt slung over one shoulder, as if he meant to change it inside.

“Do you work here?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“How is it?”

He shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“Are they hiring?”

“I think so. Two baggers quit last week.”

She moistened her lips. “Who should I talk to?”

“Jack,” he said in a derisive tone. “He’ll probably hire you on the spot.”

“You think so?”

“He likes pretty girls.”

Meghan lifted a hand to her hair, embarrassed by the compliment. He seemed to want to say something else, but he didn’t. “What’s your name?” she asked.

He held out his hand. “Eric.”

“I’m Meghan.”

“Mucho gusto.”

He smiled as he shook her hand, and she felt an odd jump in her tummy. He had nice white teeth, and he smelled kind of good. Like he’d just showered.

“Mucho gusto,”
she repeated lamely, releasing his hand.

He laughed. “No, you say,
El gusto es mío
. ‘The pleasure is mine.’ ”

She couldn’t possibly say that to him. In fact, she was ready to burst into flames at the mere mention of pleasure.

His amusement faded as he became aware of her discomfort. “Jack will be out front. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She walked along the side of the building, chiding herself all the way. He hadn’t even been trying to flirt with her. It was just that he was handsome, and everything sounded sexy in Spanish.

“El gusto es mío,”
she practiced huskily, rolling her eyes.

Inside the market, the air-conditioning hit her overheated flesh like an arctic blast. She walked past the checkout aisles, looking for an office area.

There were two employees lounging at the electronics counter, both wearing identical blue shirts. The girl had black hair with ash-blond streaks. She was attractive, in a sultry kind of way. Her companion was tall and lanky, with shaggy brown hair and sleepy eyes.

“Hello there,” he said, looking Meghan up and down.

This must be Jack.

“Hi,” she said, feeling an attack of nerves. “I was wondering if I could pick up an application.”

“Sure! I’ve got one around here somewhere.”

While he riffled through a stack of papers underneath the counter, the girl leaning against it arched a critical brow. “Nice haircut.”

Meghan gave her a similar inspection. “Nice highlights.”

“I’m Cristina,” she said, dropping the attitude. “This is Jack.”

Jack passed her an application. “Meghan Young,” she murmured, introducing herself. “Do you mind if I fill it out here?”

“Be my guest.”

“I have work to do,” Cristina sighed.

Jack watched her walk away. His eyes were glazed and a bit bloodshot.

“Are you hiring?” Meghan asked.

He turned his attention back to her, drumming his fingertips against the counter. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you have any experience bagging?”

She didn’t have any experience, period. “You put cold stuff with cold stuff,” she said. “Heavy on bottom, light on top.”

He smiled lazily. “What do you say to customers?”

“ ‘Need any help out with that, ma’am?’ ”

“How do you do a price check?”

Meghan shrugged. “Take the product back to its place on the shelves and read the tag.”

“What’s Brie?”

“Cheese.”

“Where would you find falafel?”

She had no idea what that was. “Ethnic-foods aisle?”

“Habla español?”

“No. Sorry. I know some sign language.”

“Okay,” he said, coming out from behind the counter. “You seem like a fast learner, and I have enough dipshits on staff. Come on back for a W-2.”

She hadn’t even filled out the application yet. “I’m hired?”

“Yep. Can you start right now? We’re shorthanded.”

She followed him through a set of double doors with flaps around the edges. “Okay,” she said, looking around the storage area. It was chaotic. There were boxes of produce stacked up to the ceiling. Eric and another man were moving cartons of milk.

Perhaps because the workers had to come in and out from the unloading dock so often, there was no air-conditioning in the back room.